


We Were Born Sick

by jejunestars



Series: Deathless [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam, Demon!Dean, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:16:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jejunestars/pseuds/jejunestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's probably going crazy, but Dean's blood is in his veins and, well, he can't feel anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Were Born Sick

There's somebody standing at the foot of Sam's bed.

Sam knows his hand should inch towards the gun he keeps under his pillow but he stays put, eyes fixed on the half-empty bottle of whisky on the night stand, counting the seconds in his head, pushing out soft and slow breaths that are magnified too much in the dark and quiet of the room.

Sam can sense eyes burning into him, feel it sick and heavy over his skin and he self-consciously pulls the blankets a little further up his torso, wondering if he's still drunk or if he's lost his mind, either of which would explain why he's still lying there, hasn't tried to check who's in his room. Because he knows it, in the back of his mind; knows the only person it could be, but he's hallucinating, he must be, another side effect of not sucking down demon blood, another withdrawal symptom.

"I know you're awake, Sam."

Dean.

Sam moves so quickly that the whole room blurs and spins around him. The gun is in his hand, and he's sitting up against the headboard faster than he can even think about what he's doing. When his eyes meet his brother's he tries with everything inside him to keep his hands steady, _again_.

Dean cocks an eyebrow at him, his figure illuminated by the sickly orange glow of the lamp on the night stand. He looks good, same as Sam remembers him last, all frayed jeans and grey shirt, hair fluffed up in a way that Sam thinks shouldn't be allowed on somebody who is already so perfectly beautiful.

"What-" he coughs shakily, trying to get rid of the croakiness in his voice, "what are you doing here?"

Dean chuckles, and it vibrates through Sam's whole body, dragging him down and filling him up with sickly memories of the last time he heard that sound.

Sam holds the gun tighter in his hand as Dean comes closer, sits down heavily at the side of the bed, so close now that he could reach out and touch Sam's leg, and Sam- well, Sam doesn't want to think about that.

"You know," Dean says, his words fire that dances across Sam's skin, and Sam is consumed _again_ and having his brother this close to him is all he thought about since he left and _fuck_ \- "I didn't expect to find you here. Been looking all over for you. Waitin' for any word of weird demon mutilations or- whatever." Dean's tone is casual, too casual, but Sam knows it's on the verge of something else and his heart is pounding furiously.

"I-" Sam's voice is wavering and he's trying to pull himself together, "I don't do that anymore." The gun is inches from Dean's face and Dean is looking straight at it, staring down the barrel like it means nothing to him, which it _doesn't_ , because no weapon Sam has at his disposal could hurt Dean. He doesn't think about the fact that he could never pull the trigger anyway, he _doesn't_.

Dean grins and it's sick and wrong and unholy how it goes straight to Sam's dick. He sneaks a glance down at his lap to check that the blankets are still covering him and when his head is level with Dean's again he sees that his brother followed his gaze, knows what Sam's thinking, knows _everything_ , because hell if his demon brother doesn't have some sort of sixth sense shit. _Like he didn't already_ , a tiny voice at the back of Sam's head pushes through his thoughts, _like you couldn't already read each other better than anything. Like you're not soulm_ -

Sam clears his throat loudly and he swears Dean hears his every thought.

"Now, now, Sammy," he teases, his left hand drawing up towards the gun and Sam, Sam doesn't even pull it away, just lets Dean's palm slide over it, caress it slow and carefully, and Sam can't tear his eyes from it, the situation in his jeans only getting worse. Dean's fingers brush over Sam's, loose over the trigger, and Sam feels it all the way through him, his nerve endings on fire from Dean's skin on his. His hand twitches under the soft warm skin of Dean's fingertips.

And Dean's bending Sam's wrist, twirling the gun over his palm until it's pointing at Sam, directly between his eyes. His thumb hovers over the trigger and his fingers strain from the awkward way that the gun is now backwards in his hand, but Dean's hand is there, squeezing the gun tightly, a light touch on his skin that's making Sam crazy in every way it shouldn't.

"How d'you like having a gun to your head?" Dean whispers, but his voice sounds huge in the small room, echoing off every corner and resounding inside Sam's brain.

Sam can't even think. He looks past the barrel, directly into Dean's eyes. His fingers have gone numb when Dean pries them off of it, setting the gun down on the bed beside them, and Sam's heartbeat almost returns to normal but he can't stop feeling _nothing_ , nothing about Dean turning the gun on him, nothing about Sam letting him do it.

"Where's the knife?" Dean asks, no hint of teasing any more, his voice low and dangerous. "And don't lie to me, Sam. I don't like it when you do that." His face is deadpan, expressionless, and Sam can't read a fucking thing. He knows better than to push his luck.

"In the- the dungeon," he responds, and Dean is gone before the last syllable finishes reverberating around the room.

Sam lets out all the air he had been holding in his lungs and everything pours out of him at once, his heart thrumming erratically in his chest as his breath comes out in quick, shallow bursts. He runs shaking hands through his hair, his fingers dragging through the thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and _fuck_. He can't even focus when Dean's around, everything is just _Dean_ and he throws the blankets off his legs, meaning to make some kind of desperate attempt at escape but Dean is already back, his broad form blocking the closed door before Sam can even stand up. Sam doesn't even need to look at his face to know he's pissed.

But he just says, "Take your shirt off."

Sam stares. "I-"

"Do it."

He only thinks about it for a second, one little consideration of what would happen if he didn't do as Dean says, before he pulls his shirt up and over his head, dropping it on the floor beside his bed. The cool air of the bunker hits his chest and he shivers.

When Dean comes back into full view, the lamp casting long shadows over his face, he's holding Ruby's knife in one hand and a pair of heavy, metal handcuffs in the other.

Sam's face is probably ridiculous, eyebrows shooting right up and jaw hanging slack, but he doesn't have a lot of time to make the connection when Dean drops the knife on the bed and moves towards Sam with the handcuffs, pulling a key out of his pocket.

"Dean, I don't-"

Dean sits beside Sam on the bed and slides the cuffs over his wrists anyway, ignoring Sam's protests, and they're heavy and hard against his skin, too tight and digging awkwardly into the soft flesh of his wrists.

" _Dean_ ," he forces out, knows his brother isn't listening, but tries to get his attention anyway, tried to pull his hands from Dean's grasp. "Dean, _please_ -"

"These are just for show, Sammy," Dean says, still holding the thick metal connecting the two cuffs. He locks them, dropping the key onto the floor on top of Sam's shirt. "You know I can already make you do whatever I want."

Dean wrenches Sam's arms above his head, simultaneously shoving his body further down the bed so that he's almost lying flat out, arms twisted awkwardly above him. Sam tries to push him off but he's not strong enough, not without- _he won't think about it he won't he won't he won't_ \- not without Dean's blood. He tries to ignore that thought with his brother's breath on his face, lips so tantalizingly close that Sam can almost taste him, feel the memory of Dean's lips across his, teeth grazing against his skin.

Dean lets go of him, sitting back on the bed, and Sam's first instinct is to try to get up but he can't. His hands and arms are locked in place, secured by an invisible force and Dean is laughing at him and _fuck_ Sam loves that sound, even if it's at his own expense. He tries to say Dean and stop but nothing comes out, his words stuck in the back of his throat and Dean is laughing harder and louder, his eyes glinting in the near-darkness, flicking over Sam's immobile and silent body with a satisfied smirk.

"Didn't think I forgot what I said last time, did you?"

And fuck, more than anything he was _hoping_ Dean wouldn't.

Sam shakes his head, grateful that he can at least do that.

Dean's still smiling and Sam _knows_ that Dean knows that it's all he's been thinking about. Could probably guess that Sam spent the last month locked up in the bunker, riding out the storm, drinking though his withdrawals. He learned from the best.

"Need me to make this easier for you, little brother?" Dean asks, and then his eyes are black and Sam had almost forgotten how incredible they looked, like they weren't front and centre in his mind every time he jerked off.

His cock is even harder in his jeans and he bucks his hips into the empty air is if it could give him some kind of friction, desperate for it, for anything. Dean's rough hands are on his hips instantly, holding him down and he can't move at all and then Dean's hands are replaced by the insides of his thighs as he straddles Sam. Sam groans, long and deep, his head falling back against the pillow. He's so focused on Dean practically sitting on his cock that he doesn't even realise he can make noises again.

Dean's lips brush over his ear when he leans down towards him and Sam's body goes limp under Dean, giving up the struggle because all he can focus on is his brother's breath on his ear and his body pressed almost flush against Sam's and Sam _wants_.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you," Dean whispers, voice thick with lust and need and it's so delicious Sam just _melts_. "Need to hear it," Dean urges, pulling back to look at Sam and his dark eyes hold more expression than the green ever could and Sam just knows that everything is too fucked up to fix now. So he goes with it.

"Want you to- to gimme your blood," Sam breathes out, his skin burning under Dean's touches and then Dean has his mouth on his neck, nipping lightly at the skin and it's all Sam can do to push past the desperate little noises that fall from his lips and keep talking. "Want to drink it. Feel it inside me."

"And?" Dean presses, his tongue roving over Sam's collarbone now, moving slowly and steadily downwards.

"Want- want to suck you. Suck your dick." Dean's licking over his nipple, catching it between his teeth and Sam has to steady himself before he continues. "Want you to come inside me... fill me up-" Dean's teeth are grazing over his abs, tongue darting out to lick at the sweat that's collected on Sam's belly, "-want you to fill me up with your blood and come."

Dean groans, long and drawn out, mouth still working its way downwards and his hands, rough and possessive, holding Sam's hips down. He stops at the skin just above Sam's belt.

"Fuck, Sammy," he murmurs before he gets to work, unfastening the buckle and then popping open the button of Sam's jeans. He pulls the jeans and boxers off all at once, too fast and not fast enough, and Sam's naked, cock standing out red and swollen against his skin with his arms still twisted above him, muscles straining. Dean's eyes skim over his body slowly, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and Sam fights against the cuffs, hips thrashing into the empty air again.

"You want it, huh?" Dean says, voice hoarse, and he isn't laughing anymore. Sam can feel the tension in his bones, knows this is real. Knows that last time was, too; not some sick fever dream like he had tried to play it off as. "Want me to fuck you?"

"Fuck," Sam moans, knows his voice is rough and desperate, knows it's gonna turn Dean on even more, "yeah, Dean. Yeah."

Dean's pulling off his own clothes and Sam watches, needing to really see Dean because last time he had so much demon blood pumping through his veins that he couldn't focus on anything else. Still his eyes flicker to the knife, laying untouched beside him on the bed.

"Not yet, Sam," Dean says and he's on top of Sam again, thighs tight around his hips and he leans down to press a kiss to Sam's throat. Dean's hovering just above him, not close enough that Sam can touch him and he groans in frustration, trying to arch his body up towards Dean's. Dean ignores him, trailing his lips upwards until they meet Sam's, and Sam gives up and drinks him in instead, lips moving perfectly against his brother's, sucking his tongue into his mouth, nipping at his lower lip and he relaxes himself against the bed, body sinking into the sheets. Dean smiles into his mouth.

"If you're real good for me, Sammy, you can have it," he mumbles against Sam's lips. "Do what I say and you can take as much as you want."

Sam nods, his brain skipping over the part where Dean makes him do things he doesn't want to because really, he'll do anything for another taste, anything to have that power inside him again, parts of Dean pulsing in his veins.

Dean shuffles up Sam's body until he's sitting on his chest and Sam can't take his eyes off Dean's cock, hard as hell and already dripping with precome. He licks his lips expectantly and Dean laughs. He angles himself so that his cock is against Sam's lips, and Sam licks at the beads of precome, moaning as the taste floods over his tongue but needing more. He opens wider, trying to pull it into his mouth, but Dean pulls back.  

"Fuckin' cockslut," he teases, jerking his hand lazily up and down his dick, keeping it just out of Sam's reach and Sam is close to screaming with how badly he wants Dean's dick in his mouth. He licks his lips sloppily, taste of Dean and sweat from his upper lip mingling bitterly on his tongue.

Dean swipes the head of his cock softly and slowly over Sam's lips again.

" _Please_ ," Sam begs, breathless and shaking under his brother. "Dean, please, I need it, want it-"

He's cut off with a moan, mouth filled with Dean's cock, and he can't even try to do his own thing with it before Dean is fucking into his mouth, hard and fast, Sam's teeth dragging along the soft skin and he's spluttering and groaning around it, choking it down, letting Dean sink in as far as he can go before pulling out fully and slamming back in again. He feels dizzy with it, head propelled backwards and forwards with Dean's motions. The angle is awkward, Dean's cock hitting the back of Sam's throat but never going further.

Everything with this new Dean is _faster_ , more intense, and Sam struggles to keep up. He's barely gotten used to the feel of Dean's dick in his mouth before he's left empty and panting, blinking stupidly up at his brother. Sam's barely aware of his movements, fast and light, and then Dean's mouth is on his again, tongue pressing into every corner of his mouth, sliding over his teeth, and Sam would swear that he's trying to taste himself there. That thought just makes Sam more needy, and he's practically whimpering into Dean's mouth, eyes screwed shut because if he opens them he's sure he's gonna beg or blow his load.

He's tensed up, trying desperately to fight the insane urges that flash through his mind at the dance of Dean's tongue against his own. But he never was good at holding back, not when it comes to Dean. So he fights for control of the kiss, pulling back to draw Dean's bottom lip into his mouth, sucking it so hard that he knows it'll bruise, knows it'll be on Dean for days. He licks softly over the flesh, drinking in Dean's taste, and is barely aware of it when he clamps his teeth down, only really knows what's happened when the first drop of blood hits his tongue.

His eyes fly open and he's stuttering out a groan as Dean pulls back, eyes on fire, a light smear of red across his bottom lip. Sam can only stare at his work, fingers twitching above his head, want pulsing through his body in deep, hot waves.

"Fuckin' _hell_ , Sammy," Dean hisses, tongue flicking over his lip to catch the blood before it dribbles down his chin. "Want it too fuckin' bad."

"Yeah," Sam breathes, throat burning up as he swallows down the last tiny drops of Dean's blood. "Please, Dean. Need it."

Dean ignores him, dismounting and jumping off the bed, grabbing at his pile of clothes on the floor. Sam's heart stutters, thinking Dean is going to leave, but he's pulling his belt free of the loops from his jeans and before Sam can even say another thing, breathe out another plea, the belt is pulled tight between his teeth, Dean fastening it harshly at the back of his head and Sam's mouth is dry and raw and full of leather. He can't speak, can't move his tongue past the belt, and it's uncomfortable but he takes it because there's nothing else he can do about it.

Dean settles back on his heels and picks up the knife. Sam whimpers around the leather, tries to move again, but his arms and torso are locked into place and he can only raise his head weakly.

"This is what you get for not doing what I tell you to," Dean says and Sam's huffing out panicked breaths, feeling like he can't drag enough air into his lungs.

"You've been bad, Sammy." Dean's eyes shift to green. "Real bad." He digs the point of the knife into his palm and drags it along slowly, angled so that Sam can see the tiny rivulets of blood that begin to well up on Dean's hand. Sam swears his blood starts to pump harder through his body, like it's trying to pull itself towards Dean's.

Dean shifts so that his hand is raised above Sam's face, palm upwards. He tilts it - _too fucking slowly_ \- and the blood starts to drip down the side of his hand.

The first drop hits Sam's cheek. He tries to squirm but Dean is sitting on his stomach now, locking the rest of his body down with that same invisible force.

Dean squeezes his fist together harder and more hot, wet drops splash over Sam's face. Dean's enjoying this too much, his face twisted into a sly, sick grin, and Sam tries to focus on anything, anything, but the blood on his cheek. He can smell it, feel it heavy on his skin, all his senses heightened. He's painfully hard under Dean and his brain just flicks pathetically back and forth between his need for release and his need for Dean's blood.

"Had enough yet?" Dean asks when the last drop lands on Sam's chin, just below his bottom lip. "Gonna be a good boy?" Sam wishes he could nod, wishes more than anything, but he shakes his head furiously, knowing if Dean let him loose, took the belt off, he'd practically devour him, sink his teeth into any part of his brother's skin he could grab onto.

"Didn't think so," Dean says, pulling his hand away and shifting down Sam's body, his cock rubbing over Sam's in the process and Sam whines, sharp and pitiful, his eyes burning hot with tears, skin so hyper-sensitive and raw that every nerve ending in his body is screaming at him. Dean settles between Sam's legs and Sam feels some of the weight lifted from him, enough that he can raise his head farther to watch Dean.

"Guess I'll just have to fuck you stupid then, Sam," Dean promises. Sam can barely see his body from this angle, can only really stare into his eyes and his mind starts to drift into wondering how the hell he became okay with looking into Dean's eyes, green and bright and very much human, very much his _brother's_ , while he lies naked and completely open. "Guess I'll just have to fuck you so hard you can't even move," Dean's voice interrupts his thoughts and Sam would shudder if his entire body wasn't rendered immobile and helpless.

Dean's hands are on the backs of his thighs, pushing his legs up. Sam tries to focus on the heavy touch of Dean's fingers but his head is pounding, his eyes glassed over and damp, sick stabs of desperation in the pit of his stomach and he can't calm down, mind turning over and over and all he wants is the rush of Dean's blood to kill his thoughts. He wants to feel bad when Dean lowers his head between Sam's legs, wants to feel guilty but then his tongue is _right there_ , drawing little circles, hot and wet, around Sam's hole and Sam scrunches his face up, breathing in and out harshly, willing his entire body to relax otherwise he's gonna come all over himself and make Dean mad.

Dean's tongue is soft and slow against him and tiny whimpers fall from Sam's lips and fuck this feels better than anything he could ever think of Dean doing to him, anything Dean's ever done before. Dean's picking up his pace against him and Sam would scream if the belt wasn't blocking his tongue, twisting the sound into a garbled groan which only makes Dean move faster and then Dean's tongue is pushing into him, licking inside him sloppily and Dean is moaning into his ass like crazy and Sam can move, pulling his arms down and grabbing the top of Dean's head, running his fingers through his hair, bucking his hips erratically.

Dean pulls away, but his tongue is near instantly replaced by two slicked up fingers and Sam falls back onto the bed again, pleasure and pain forcing the most fucked up, strangled sounds from his throat.

"Never gonna listen, are you?" Dean complains, thrusting his fingers roughly in and out, twisting them around and Sam barely hears him, every part of his body focused on how Dean feels inside him, the slow burn and stretch of his motions. He grinds against Dean's fingers, into his hand, and Dean hasn't even bothered pinning him down again. Instead he reaches behind Sam's head with his free hand, unbuckling the belt and Sam's jaw aches but he grins when he pulls free, knows this is it. The expression on Dean's face is nothing he's ever seen before, eyes dark with lust and desperation and he doesn't look as in control as Sam knows he wants to be; he's coming apart right in front of Sam, like he did when Sam fucked him and like hell if he isn't going to take advantage of having Dean like this.

Sam manages to pull himself up on the third try, crushing his mouth against Dean's, sitting awkwardly on his hand and he moans deep and filthy against Dean's lips as his brother continues pushing and curling his fingers inside him. He tastes himself on Dean's tongue, sucks it eagerly into his mouth.

"Please," he pants into Dean's mouth, still grinding shamelessly on his fingers, "fuck me, Dean, c'mon-"

And Sam's on his back, pleas cut off by the force with which Dean throws him down, but Dean's mouth is back over his, tongues sliding together frantically and Sam can barely breathe when Dean pushes down onto him, grinding their cocks together and the slow, sweet drag of skin on skin is too much.

"I- _fuck_ , Dean, I-I'm gonna-"

Dean reaches his hand between their bodies, gives Sam's cock one rough, tight squeeze and Sam's coming, spilling over his stomach and Dean's hand. Dean kisses him the whole way through it so that Sam can only get out small gasps between kisses, fingernails digging so hard into his palms that he can feel the sting of air on the shallow cuts they make. All the built up tension that Dean pushed upon him drains from his body with the aftershocks and he falls limp under his brother, head cloudy and light with relief, letting Dean continue exploring his mouth but too exhausted to return the favour.

Dean pulls back and Sam grunts at the loss of contact, but when Dean raises his come-soaked hand to his mouth and wraps his lips around each finger slowly, carefully sucking and licking up every drop, Sam is wide awake, his cock giving a half-hearted twitch in an attempt to get hard again. Dean moans around his fingers, eyelids fluttering closed and when he opens them again the pools of black draw a whimper from Sam.

"Jesus, Dean," he whispers and he'd do anything to keep Dean here, knows he's going to leave again and Sam's mind is racing as he watches his brother lean down to lap at the come on his stomach, eyes black and empty and all Sam can think is _please don't leave me, Dean, not again_ and Dean is about to fuck him and _why is he thinking about this_ -

Dean moves until he's on his knees again between Sam's legs and Sam's eyes are welling up, cheeks damp with sweat and tears and Dean's blood and he wants this more than he ever knew, needs Dean in ways he never has before, doesn't know how he lived without this for so long.

Dean spits into his palm, once, twice, and then he's hissing as he drags his hand up and down the length of his cock. He doesn't say anything, doesn't bother warning Sam, just pushes the head inside him and a shock of pain jolts up Sam's spine, leaving him writhing on the bed and breathing out Dean's name in between sobs and gasps. Dean keeps pushing, all the way in until there's no more left to give, and he falls against Sam, bracing himself on his forearms either side of Sam's head.

When their eyes find each other's, everything stops - Sam can't feel anything but the force of Dean's gaze, heavy over his skin, the burn of Dean inside him, stretching him out, filling him up. Dean looks at him for a long moment, something in his eyes that Sam can't quite comprehend, hidden behind the green. He looks like Sam's brother again, like maybe he's not a demon and maybe Sam isn't aching for his blood, and Sam's stuck between wanting to kiss him slow and deep, and wanting Dean to fuck him until he can't see straight.

Dean breaks their connection, shifting up on his arms, and gives Sam the latter.

He pulls out almost fully and Sam whines low in his throat at the loss of fullness. Dean smirks, eyes instantly black, the switch from green so seamless that Sam wouldn't even be able to say if they were ever green at all.

Dean slams back into him, hard, and Sam cries out because _fuck_ it hurts.

Dean chuckles, low and dark and dangerous, every thrust making his lips split wider, his smile bigger, and Sam can't even make himself be mad at it. He can't find any part of himself that hates Dean for enjoying this, for liking the pain he's inflicting upon him, and it's because he's sick himself. It's not just Dean, no, it _can't_ be; Sam has to be fucked up too, has to be all torn up inside his head for this to be happening, for him to love what Dean is doing to him and how he's doing it, rough and violent and sweet.

So he lets Dean do what he wants to him. He lays there and takes it, but he takes it with all he has; arching his back off the bed, twisting his hips into every thrust from Dean. Each moan that falls from his lips is some sort of confirmation that he's ruined, that there's nothing left inside of him, nothing left for him but Dean.

"Come with me, Sammy," Dean forces out between thrusts and Sam can barely hear him over his own frenzied cries. "I'll- I'll show you how- how good it can be-" he cuts himself off with a muffled groan against Sam's shoulder. Sam's rocking his hips up towards his brother, meeting him for every thrust and his whole body is aching with the effort to stop himself from coming again.

Dean pulls back, slowing down until his thrusts are shallow and he buries his cock inside Sam, stopping completely and staring down at him. Sam clenches around him, bucking his hips, trying to grind into Dean's cock but Dean doesn't move.

"Sam," he breathes, and he's looking at Sam like he's seeing him for the first time, like there's nothing more important than the sight of his brother, sweating and panting and desperate under him. Sam doesn't stop looking back, he _can't_. "Will you?" Dean asks, and his question hangs in the air between them, Sam not sure he can even think about this while his brother's dick is in his ass but he thinks Dean isn't going to move, isn't going to do anything until he answers.

Dean sits back, extending his arm and the knife shoots into his outstretched palm from where it was left, forgotten, on the bed beside them.

"Want it, Sammy?" he asks, teasingly running the blade along his skin, down his chest until he stops just above his dick, and Sam's close to losing it. He nods, too fast and too eager and he doesn't give a shit. Dean smirks. "Come with me," he repeats. "And I'll give you as much as you can take. And then some more."

Sam whines pitifully. _Shit_. He licks his lips, imagining the heavy, bitter taste of Dean's blood there. He doesn't need to think about what happened in the weeks since Dean was here last. He won't be conflicted, doesn't need to be angry at what his brother is, or afraid; he can choose not to care, to leave here with Dean and never come back and fuck if he thinks there's any other answer than yes. Like he hasn't only been waiting this whole time for Dean to just ask. _Yes, Dean. I want you. Want your blood. Take me with you._

He just nods, can't find the words to tell Dean how much he cares, how much he wants because Dean can't understand and Sam isn't sure that he really wants to either. One more hit, one more taste of Dean's blood and at least his last human thought will be how much he loves his pain in the ass demon of a brother.

Dean's eyes glint black and Sam can see himself in them, him and Dean, one and the same. He swallows hard, wanting this to be over fast. When Dean slices into his forearm with the knife and lowers it to Sam's lips, it is.

Sam moans around Dean's skin, the familiar surge of power consuming him, everything else forgotten but _Dean_ and _Dean's blood_ and his veins spark and ignite as he takes more and more inside him and then Dean is fucking him again, slamming into him harder and harder with every thrust and Sam's head is an explosion of jumbled up feelings that he could never even begin to pick apart.

"Fuck, Sam," he hears Dean's voice faintly over the ringing in his ears, "Yeah, so fuckin' tight, Sammy, so good for me, _fuck_ -"

Sam pulls his mouth from Dean's arm and wrenches his head down towards him, burrowing his face in his neck and biting hard and deep in to the flesh and Dean is moaning his name over and over above him while Sam fills himself up with his blood. He tries to call out Dean's name but his mouth is so full and slick with blood that it comes out as a garbled cry and he settles on meeting Dean's thrusts again, moaning wordlessly around the endless stream of thick, sweet liquid.

Dean grapples with Sam's head, pulling Sam's mouth from his neck with effort. Sam falls back onto the pillow and Dean slides out of him; Sam's whine is lost in his throat as Dean flips him over and forces his hips up so that Sam's on all fours, braced on his forearms. Dean's back inside him in one smooth motion and Sam cries out, fisting his hands in the sheets.

The artificial light casts a bright glow over his pillow, and Sam focuses his eyes on the drops of blood that land there, dripping heavy and slow from his mouth. He licks his lips, tongue lapping up every bit of Dean's blood he can. Dean's pounding into him mercilessly and Sam is caught between trying to hold himself up and jerk himself off, dick achingly hard and forgotten as Dean fills him up. He's not gonna slow down, fucking into Sam deep and hard, and Sam tries to angle himself better so that he can meet Dean for every thrust, pushing his hips backwards with every forward motion from Dean, driving him in deeper.

Dean reaches his hand around Sam's body, _finally_ , and he's dragging his palm hard and tight along the length of Sam's dick.

Sam feels the heat of it fill him up, feels Dean's cock pulsing inside him, and he cries out, burying his face in the dirty pillow, feeling sick and profane and completely and utterly boneless as Dean fucks him through his orgasm. His body flops flush against the bed as he comes himself, spilling over the sheets and he rocks his hips desperately back against Dean who's blanketing him perfectly, a reassuring weight on his back, pressing him hard against the bed.

They lay there for too short a time, Sam struggling to come down when Dean pulls out of him; too fast, too rough, too soon. He groans at the loss, pushing his cheek further against the pillow. He's full of Dean, in every sense of the word, and he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to do anything; wants to let it all settle inside him first, the infernal surge of power humming under his skin, taking over every part of him, replacing things inside him that he doesn't really need any more.

But his brother has other ideas.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean says, and he's pulling Sam up from the bed by his wrist, his fingers clamped tightly around him like he's never going to let go again. Sam smiles, not sure how it looks on his face, if it's strangled or twisted but he's sure of Dean's hand on him, sure as anything that he's going to follow.

Dean's pulled him from the room, into the harsh, sterile light of the corridor and he turns in time to see Sam carefully shutting the door behind him, the finality of it hanging in the air as it clicks into place in the frame.

Dean pushes him into the wall, body enveloping Sam's, and it feels like it did last time. Except Dean's kissing him, hand fisted into his hair, rough and possessive and still tasting viciously of Sam. When he pulls back, drops his hands, there's something else in his eyes, some sort of feeling that Sam's not entirely sure of but wants to believe it could be true.

But Dean only smirks.

"We got work to do."


End file.
